Prince Edward's Warrant

by Mel Starr

  “Roger knew, or guessed, that I had identified him as one of the four who would have slain me and Arthur upon the road from Hornsey.”

  “Why would this lead to his death?”

  “He spoke of this fear to another, likely one of the three others who accompanied him. To prevent him naming them if I confronted him, they slew him.”

  “But why also slay Sir John and Lady Ardith?”

  “I am at a loss,” I admitted. “Perhaps the felon thought Roger might have confided in Sir John.”

  “Confided in or admitted to,” Prince Edward said thoughtfully. “Whoso did these murders, then, is likely the same who slew Sir Giles.”

  “Likely,” I agreed. “Or one who is in the man’s employ.”

  “One?” the prince said. “Mayhap two men, or more, did these murders and went through yon window.”

  “Mayhap.”

  “What will you do to discover the man, or men?”

  Prince Edward had appointed me to be his constable to discover who had slain Sir Giles Cheyne. Now I found myself assigned to learn who had done two more murders. Three more, if Roger de Clare also lay a corpse. I wondered when I would see my Kate again.

  Chapter 13

  If, as I suspected, these murders were connected, solving one might also solve the others. Then perhaps my return to Bampton might not be delayed overmuch. Indeed, it might be hastened. More felonies meant more clues, if I could find and rightly interpret them.

  Sir Harold had followed his prince into the chamber. I turned to him. “We must find Roger de Clare. If he lives he may be able to tell us what happened here. If he is dead, which I believe, his corpse may tell us something, however little.

  “Send out Kennington’s grooms and valets to search the palace grounds. Roger did not leave the palace with his horse, so I believe he did not depart at all, or if he did, ’twas against his will. Assign each man a place to search so that no place is searched twice and no place missed.”

  I saw Prince Edward nod approval. The marshal saw also and said, “’Twill be done.”

  “Immediately,” Prince Edward said. “And call for my chaplain. He must give Extreme Unction and Sir John and Lady Ardith must be bathed and set before the chapel altar, as was done for Sir Giles. Tell Father Lawrence to come to me when he has done these things. Sir John would wish to be interred in his parish church. Arrangements must be made.”

  The prince pushed himself to his feet using chair and table to steady himself. Was this weakness due to the exertion of hawking, or the shock of two more deaths in Kennington Palace, or to his forsaking Dr. Blackwater’s boiled roosters?

  Prince Edward moved unsteadily to the chamber door, where Lady Joan took one arm and a valet seized another. Lady Joan is not hesitant, I have learned, to express her opinions. As she, the prince, and the valet departed I heard her unburden herself regarding her husband’s decision to go hawking. From what I heard she had warned earlier that to do so would be unwise, and did he wish to make of her a widow? I could not hear the prince’s reply.

  Sir Harold sent a groom to fetch Father Lawrence, then he and I and Arthur put our heads together to devise a scheme for searching Kennington Palace and grounds. We had a goodly number of grooms and valets to do the search – nearly forty, as the prince keeps a great household.

  Sir Harold and six stable grooms would search the marshalsea. We sent five other grooms to investigate Lady Joan’s garden and the meadow and forest beyond. Past the meadow was a vineyard. I sent four grooms to prowl through the vines. The guest chambers must be examined, but tactfully, as knights and ladies who resided there would likely take amiss any demand that their lodgings be opened. I assigned myself this task, well aware of the opprobrium I might bring upon my head. I sent Arthur with six palace grooms and valets to search the kitchen, buttery, pantry, and outbuildings. When the bell rang to announce supper we would all return to the hall if Roger de Clare had not been discovered before then.

  Most of Prince Edward’s gentlefolk guests had gone from hawking to their accommodations, there to change from mud-spattered tunics and cotehardies. All knew of the reason for the prince’s hasty return to the palace, and as I went from one chamber to another I saw concern writ upon titled faces. There was little hostility when I asked to inspect each chamber. Perhaps this was because my first words when each chamber door opened to my knock were to voice relief that the occupants were hale, and that whoso had slain Sir John and Lady Ardith had not visited them.

  I watched eyes and faces as I spoke to each knight, seeking some sign that the man had no concern for his safety. Such an expression might mean that he did not fear an attack because he knew who had slain Sir John, and why.

  I completed the circuit of Kennington’s guest chambers without discovering even a suggestion of unconcern. Knightly brows were well furrowed and several greeted me at their door with hand resting upon dagger.

  The bell calling folk to the hall for supper had not yet sounded, but I made my way there to await the other searchers. Two stable grooms who had searched the marshalsea with Sir Harold were already present in the hall, leaning against the wall. The marshal, they said, was detained but should appear shortly. No trace of Roger de Clare had been discovered in or near the stables.

  More seekers began to appear. The five grooms sent to investigate meadow, forest, and Lady Joan’s garden returned together. I doubted their search was thorough, but a few minutes later the insubstantial nature of the grooms’ effort was rendered insignificant.

  I heard rapid, heavy footsteps from the porch, and moments later the door from porch to hall burst open and Arthur, followed by a groom, burst in. He saw me at the opposite end of the hall and shouted, “Found ’im.”

  “Where?” I said, and hastened to meet him.

  “In the larder.”

  “Dead or alive?”

  “Dead as a man may be what’s been stuffed head first into a barrel of pickled herrings. Come… see for yourself.”

  Kennington’s larder was redolent of smoked hams and sides of beef. I was reminded of how hungry I was. The desire for a meal, however, soon passed.

  Arthur led me to a large cask wherein salted herrings had been kept for fast day meals for grooms and other lesser folk.

  “Noticed that the cover was askew,” Arthur said as we approached the barrel and the grooms Arthur had assigned to remain with the corpse. “Thought a kitchen servant had left it dislodged, so when we finished lookin’ around an’ was about to leave I shoved the lid in place, but it wouldn’t drop to a tight seal. Thought that odd, so lifted it to see what the obstruction might be. Folk don’t want vermin getting to their herring.”

  As he spoke Arthur raised the lid and I saw why it would not close properly. A man’s shoes and feet prevented the lid from seating.

  “Reckon this must be that squire what’s gone missin’,” Arthur said as he set the lid aside. “Nobody else missin’, is there?”

  “Not that I’ve heard.”

  I turned to two of the grooms and told them to draw the corpse from the cask. This was odious work. As they lifted the corpse I saw that the man was richly garbed. Here was no groom or valet or even page. I was convinced Roger de Clare was found even before his face appeared.

  We in the larder crossed ourselves as the grooms laid Roger out upon the flags. I peered into the cask to see if his cap was there, for ’twas not upon his head. I saw no cap, nor any other thing but a layer of salted herrings. Whoever had done this murder would know the corpse would be found soon. Wednesday was a fast day. Did this mean the felon thought one day enough time for him to escape detection, or did he not care that Roger would soon be found?

  Five people who had lived or labored in Kennington Palace were now food for worms. Will worms consume a man who has been salted? The question calls for experiment, but what good can come of knowing the answer?

  Prince Edward’s chapel would soon receive another corpse. I hoped Father Lawrence would wash Roger’s corpse well
, else the fishy odor would overwhelm the place.

  Prince Edward had assigned me the task of discovering a murderer. I had failed. So far. He would now demand of me that I find five murderers. Five, unless some of the dead were slain by the same hand. I began to despair of seeing my Kate and Bessie and John before Twelfth Night.

  Perhaps my incompetence would so anger the prince that he would discharge me and I could return to Bampton. I entertained the thought with mixed emotions. To return to Galen House was appealing. To fail in such an ignoble manner was not.

  Would Prince Edward wish to see the larder before Roger was taken from the place? I decided ’twould be best if the prince made that decision. I directed Arthur and two of the grooms to remain with the corpse. The other groom I sent to fetch Sir Harold and Father Lawrence. I hastened to the hall.

  The marshal, the chaplain, and Prince Edward were all three in the hall when I entered. The prince was seating himself at the high table, and Father Lawrence was ready to speak a blessing upon the meal. I was about to ruin their appetites.

  Prince Edward was yet unsteady and Lady Joan’s face was creased with worry as she watched her husband collapse into his chair, for collapse is quite an apt word for what he did.

  The prince looked about after settling himself and saw me at the far end of the hall. Perhaps something in my approach told him that Roger de Clare was found. He raised himself from his chair, knuckles upon the cloth before him, and motioned me to come near. All within the hall saw this, and the place fell silent as I advanced to the high table and bowed to the prince.

  “What news?” he said.

  “The squire is found.”

  “Dead?”

  “Aye.”

  “How? Was he slain? Where was he found?”

  “I would rather speak of this in some private place,” I said.

  “Oh, aye… surely. We will retire to my privy chamber.”

  The prince began to push back his chair, but Lady Joan was too quick for him. She leapt to her feet, drew back the chair, then fixed herself to her husband’s arm to assist him from the platform. She motioned for a valet to attend the prince, and together they helped him to and up the stairs. I followed. From the corner of my eye I saw Father Lawrence rise from his place, the groom I sent to him having delivered his message.

  “Is your announcement so important that my husband must delay his supper?” Lady Joan said when we had entered the privy chamber. I suspected that the prince was not the only person in Kennington Palace who was hungry. The meal would surely be delayed until his return, or until he sent word to cooks and valets and butler to proceed without him. He made no move to do so, but slumped into his ornate chair. Lady Joan took her place beside him. He motioned for the valet to leave the chamber, then bid me sit upon a padded bench I had last seen occupied by the Archbishop of Canterbury. What would my parents have said had they known that their youngest lad’s rump would some day occupy such a place? For that matter, what will my Kate say when she learns of it? I suppose I would not have to tell her of the incident. But I will.

  Prince Edward interrupted my thoughts. “Who found the squire, and where?” he demanded.

  “My man Arthur found Roger in the larder, head first in a nearly empty cask of salted herrings.”

  “He would not dive into such a place of his own will,” the prince said. “What have you learned from the corpse?”

  “I came straight to you when the lad was found. I thought you would wish to see where Roger was found and with your marshal examine the larder.”

  Prince Edward placed his hands upon the arms of his chair and made to rise, but Lady Joan placed a hand upon his to restrain him.

  “Hawking,” she said, “has drawn vigor from my husband. You and Sir Harold must study the larder and the dead. The prince needs his supper and rest.”

  As Lady Joan spoke I saw her nose wrinkle. A moment later I knew why. The prince had passed wind, and a foul odor came to my nostrils. The herbs I had suggested seemed no longer effective. Dr. Blackwater’s boiled roosters may be Prince Edward’s menu yet again, although I was troubled that a physic which had served for a time would become impotent.

  Prince Edward sank back to his chair. He said nothing of the stench, but he surely noticed it. What man, be he prince or of the commons, would wish to acknowledge that he was the source of such pungency?

  “Return to the larder and learn what you can. Call Sir Harold to join you,” the prince instructed. “When your work in the larder is done, have Sir Harold and Father Lawrence take the corpse to the chapel to join Sir John and Lady Ardith. Roger must be taken to his father for burial… This is a sorry business.” Prince Edward passed a hand over his forehead and sighed.

  “You must eat,” Lady Joan said firmly, “and none in the hall will have their supper ’til you appear.”

  “I will do so,” the prince said, and stood slowly. “The cooks and butler,” he continued, “will be told to hold back a portion of supper from the almoner until you and Sir Harold, and those with you have concluded your inquiry.”

  I bowed my way from the privy chamber and returned to the larder. The groom had fetched Sir Harold as instructed, and I found him kneeling over Roger’s corpse when I entered.

  “What think you, Master Hugh?” he said, rising. “Here is a felony, but who did this, and why? Do you suppose that other squire, the one he quarreled with, did this? I find no wound upon the corpse. Could it be he was turned into the cask while living?”

  “If so,” I replied, “surely more than one man did this. Roger was a strapping youth. If but one man pitched him while alive into the herrings he must be robust.”

  I knelt where the marshal had been and began a close scrutiny of the corpse and its clothing. I found no place where fabric was slashed. No dagger had pierced his cotehardie. I next examined the lad’s skull. I felt a small swelling upon the rear of his pate, but this protuberance was so slight I could not be sure it had aught to do with his death. On the other hand, a blow which miscarried might leave little trace of its effect, especially if Roger’s cap absorbed some of the blow. And where was the cap?

  A blow to the skull will leave a man with a knob for a week or so, if he lives. What of a blow which is strong enough to slay a man? Will a lump grow upon a dead man’s head? Galen did not address this, nor de Mondeville, nor any other surgeon I know of. And what if the blow does not stop the fellow’s life, but some other event soon after does? Such as being stuffed head first into a cask of herrings and brine.

  I stood from the corpse and at the corner of my eye saw a shadow darken the larder door. ’Twas Father Lawrence and his clerk. The priest stopped when he saw Roger, and he and the clerk crossed themselves.

  “Sir John, his lady, and now his squire,” the priest said. “Who could so hate a man he would slay his wife and squire also?”

  “Sir John was not slain because some man hated him,” I said.

  “Why, then?” the priest said, his brow wrinkled.

  “’Tis my belief that he and his squire were murdered not for what they had done, but for what they knew. Or what the felons thought they knew.”

  “What knowledge could be so dangerous that a man might die for having it? Ah,” the priest answered his own question. “Some man thought Sir John knew him to have sought Sir Giles’s death.”

  “Mayhap,” I replied.

  The chaplain began the prayer for the dead and we others faded back to the larder wall until the words were done.

  There was nothing more to learn from the corpse. There had been precious little to learn at all. I was puzzled about the squire’s missing cap. He had worn it last night while dancing. The murderers would not discard it. There could be no blood upon it, for there was no place on Roger’s body where the skin was broken. Did some penniless fellow take the cap from Roger before he was dunked into the herrings? I thought back to when I had seen Roger de Clare: at dinner in the hall, at dancing last eve, and upon the road, chasing me and Arthu
r. His cap on all those occasions was of a light grey, the liripipe long enough to wind about his neck and face. ’Twas fashionable. A man unable to afford such a cap would prefer to see it upon his own head than have it preserved with the herrings.

  Father Lawrence sent his clerk to fetch two servants and a pallet. He assured me that Roger’s corpse would be thoroughly bathed and set with Sir John and Lady Ardith before the chapel altar. The marshal would now have three corpses to see transported to their places of burial. Roger’s family had lands near to Tonbridge, not so far from Kennington. Perhaps he would be sent there.

  By the time matters at the larder were concluded, the great hall had been cleared, musicians were plucking, and gentlefolk were dancing. Three of their number were dead since the day before. I thought this seemed not to vex them overmuch. I was mistaken.

  I led Arthur and the grooms past the dancers to the screens passage. The pantler was there, and when he saw us directed us to a table laden with our supper.

  My appetite was much reduced. I do not remember the fare before me that evening. I have seen much blood and many corpses in my posts as bailiff and surgeon. Perhaps one day I will become inured to death and gore. But not yet.

  “What of that other squire?” Arthur said, half a loaf stuffed into his mouth. “The one what come to blows with Roger. Don’t think he could challenge Roger alone, but ’e might’ve had help, you think?”

  “Not likely, unless he followed Roger from the hall, slew him, and returned to his chamber in the time it took me to speak to Prince Edward in his privy chamber last night. And the other squires who share lodging claim that Fulk was in the chamber when they arrived from the hall, though Roger was not.”

  Why was Roger de Clare not present with the other squires when I visited their chamber? If Prince Edward found out that Roger had disobeyed his command, what greater punishment could he extact? Roger was already banished from the palace. The squire might have thought that he could go where he wished, in defiance of Prince Edward, and suffer no further penalty. If so, and some enemy found him, the penalty was greater than he could have conceived. Or perhaps he sought a friend, or a man he thought a friend, imagining no penalty at all.